


Across The Pavement, Infinitely Dark

by jumpstarts



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: But Also Slightly Divergent Because I Give No Fucks, Canon Universe, M/M, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-03 14:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpstarts/pseuds/jumpstarts
Summary: Yunho forgets and Changmin has a hard time reconciling.





	1. .01

**Author's Note:**

> title from federico garcia lorca's qasida of the dream of open air. sometimes, all you want to be is sad. and poetry is the little blue pills you take to feed the rotten part inside you that you call home.

 

.

 

There’s a man with dark, dishevelled hair peering back at him from the other side of the mirror, a face that should be familiar but isn’t. Good-looking, he supposes, even with the catalogue of bruises marring ivory skin. Eyes smudged with residual shadow to match the darker shades along his collarbones, and everything else obscured by a gown that feels several sizes too big. He stands in the middle of the bathroom, staring at the stranger inside the mirror for what seems like eternity, until a nurse comes along and coaxes him back to bed.

His dream is an endless stretch of white.

Of nothing.

And when someone tells him that he’s Jung Yunho, an artist and an aspiring actor, he grasps at the name like a lifeline.

_Jung Yunho. Artist. Aspiring actor._

“Don’t you remember?”

His eyes settle on the doctor, register clinical interest and unsmiling lips, and he shakes his head. He feels like one of those hollowed-out dolls, with painted exterior and a cavernous emptiness inside. It echoes in the space behind his ribcage and unease blisters along the line of his spine at their scrutiny, amplified by the disappointment and curiosity he sees on the faces surrounding him. A middle-aged woman sitting near the door starts crying, quiet noises and shaking shoulders, and the man next to her pulls her into a one-armed hug.

They look like they’ve aged ten years in the next five minutes as the doctor asks him more questions he can’t answer.

“I want to go home,” he says, slowly. _Home_. The word sits heavy on his tongue, but it feels right. Somehow. The empty space inside his chest throbs. His fingers curl into the sheets. “Please take me home.”

 

.

 

Changmin can’t sleep. The plastic chairs lining the wall aren’t meant to be comfortable and he straightens when he feels his legs falling asleep. He hates hospitals for a reason – he’d always remember that there’s a morgue somewhere along these halls, stuffed with human-shaped caskets whose time have ran out. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he wishes he’d switched it off, wishes he’d done a lot of things differently in the last few days. He drinks cups after cups of vending-machine coffee that everything starts to blur around the edges, trying to drown himself in something that doesn’t taste like grief and regret.

The last thing he’d said to Yunho was, _fucking go then, if you want._

And they’d both boarded flights to different countries, angry at each other over some small things Changmin can’t even remember. Planting their own bed of thorns when they should’ve known better.

Should’ve known that life is cruel before it is kind.

They have more than a decade to learn that lesson together.

“Changmin.”

He flinches and turns towards the voice, heart sinking when all he sees is misery.

“You should go back first. I’m sure you have prior arrangements and the company will want to talk to you.” Yunho’s father has always been the voice of reason. Calm, even in the face of tragedy. “They’re keeping him under observation for a few days.”

“Is hyung—” _okay,_ Changmin wants to ask, but it sounds artificial. They’re standing in the middle of the hallway as if they’re already in mourning. He hates it. “Can I see him?”

Yunho’s mother dabs a handkerchief over her eyes, soaking up residual tears. “It’s better if you don’t. He’s still… unwell.”

“But—”

“We’ll call you, Changmin-ah.” It’s a dismissal couched in nicer terms, but it feels like a punch to the solar plexus. Her hand on his arm is a poor consolation and he knows they’re suffering as much, if not more, than he is. “Go home.”

“I’ll send over some of his clothes.” He’s scrabbling for any semblance of normalcy, anything he can do to not feel so useless. “And his glasses. Do you think he needs his pillows? I can—”

He trails off and ducks his head, jaw clenched unbearably tight when she starts crying again.  

 

.

 


	2. .02

 

.

 

The room is white everywhere, and Yunho keeps his eyes on the distant wall as a procession of doctors comes and goes. Almost like a funeral march. His MRIs and CAT scans come back without offering any answer. There are debates in jargons too technical for him to understand. Complicated theories. Sooner or later punctuated by the realisation that _they don’t know_. And yet, they arrive at designated hours, clockwork in their precision. Cold, meticulous hands bending him to their whims as they try a plethora of new things to scrounge up the dredges slumbering at the back of his head. It’s been days now and there’s little comfort in the routine, their scrutiny weighing heavily in the marrow of his bones.

One of the doctors lingers behind after the others are whisked away by invisible emergencies. She wears a lovely smile, if a bit worn around the edges, and her hands are warm when she clasps them over his.

There’s a necklace around her neck, constellation of tiny stars resting on the dip of her collarbone.

 _Cassiopeia,_ his mind whispers. Yunho doesn’t know how he recognises it.

“You’ll be okay.” Gentle. Hopeful. A touch of worry staining her voice, but it’s miniscule compared to the underlying confidence. He wonders if they had been friends. Or if she’s one of his fans. Was he even popular enough to have fans? “We’ll fix this.”

He shakes his head and his hands slip away from hers. The softness of her skin makes him uncomfortable, when she’s nothing more than a stranger. “I want to go home.”

“Soon, Yunho-sshi.” Her smile skews a little too wide, too bright. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He hesitates. And nods, so that she would leave him alone.

The room hushes into silence once she’s gone. It reminds Yunho of graveyards and things underneath beds, inside closets. It’s unfair — how he can’t even remember his own name, only for irrational fears to remain. He endures the creeping shadows for nearly an hour before he goes to the door, cracks it open for a fraction and peers out to see if he would be caught by those in severe white coats.

The hallway is empty except for the slumped figure of a man, squeezed into one of the plastic chairs bolted to either side of the endless white wall. There’s a backpack at his side, with a coat half-draped over it. His silhouette makes Yunho think of melancholic ghosts, lingering in abandoned, forgotten places. The door swings open noiselessly and he stumbles out, like an awkward fawn on newfound legs and he heads towards the man, uncertain as to why he thought it’s a good idea.

It’s only when he’s a foot away that he realises he doesn’t know what to say.

“Hello.” It’s not much of a greeting, stilted in all the wrong places. The man looks tired, as if he’s spent his entire life waiting in that hallway and he startles at the first syllable tumbling out of Yunho’s mouth. Large, beautiful eyes turn to stare at him. Yunho curls his fingers into fists and swallows. “Are you waiting for someone?”

 

.

 

Changmin shouldn’t be here.

He hasn’t slept for more than forty-eight hours and his head aches in protest of his self-destructive behaviour. The larger, less rational part of him, however, knows that he won’t be getting any rest at home. When Yunho isn’t there and everything inside their apartment reminds Changmin of hurtful, broken things he doesn’t know how to fix. He showered and changed and sat in their kitchen, thought about what he could’ve done differently. That maybe, if he’d pulled Yunho back and talked to him and kept him late for that flight, that rental car, then maybe—

Maybe—

His phone chimes.

_how is he? any news? is he still in the hospital?_

_where are you?_

_are you okay?_

Changmin doesn’t look at the ID before switching the phone off, can’t bear answering questions with false assurances anymore. It took him quite some time to escape the emergency meeting back in the company and that only made his headache worse; after having to keep his mouth shut as they discussed how they’re going to break this news to the public. How this is going to affect TVXQ. How much they’re going to lose while they wait for Yunho to recover. Changmin has been around long enough to read between the lines.

_“If I disappear one day,” Yunho said, tucked into Changmin’s side as they watched the finale of Dunia together. The dinosaurs could’ve been better, Changmin pointed out. Yunho none too gently smacked his thigh. “You’ll come after me, right?”_

_“I’d rip the world apart to find you,” Changmin amended. He’d kissed Yunho then and added, laughingly, “As long as I don’t have to pretend-fight your CGI dinosaurs.”_

Leaning against the windows are the quiet sounds of the city, muted. As if they’re separated into two different worlds, drawn line in the sand. Exhaustion presses hotly against Changmin’s eyes and he grapples with the heavy pull of nerves, the fear of what they would tell him tomorrow. He scours his face, pulling steady even breaths through his teeth, and when he looks up, it takes him awhile to realise he’s not alone anymore. Yunho is standing before him, framed by the dim fluorescent lighting from above.

And the world crashes around Changmin, painfully loud and jarring in the privacy of his head.

“Yes, I am.” A slight rasp mars his voice and Changmin clears his throats, looks down for a second to collect himself. He blinks back the threat of tears and pats the seat next to him, hopes that Yunho doesn’t see how badly his hand shakes. “My— friend got into an accident and he hasn’t woken up yet.”

 

.

 


End file.
